


you're breaking my whole thesis

by aestheticisms (R_Vienna)



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Love/Hate, Lowercase
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-14 14:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2194398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Vienna/pseuds/aestheticisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"there's a message in a bottle, waiting for you, across the sea."</p><p>if there's anything laurent hates more than her riddles, it's the way she makes temporal paradoxes sound--beautiful. absolutely beautiful. </p><p>-- a collection of laurent/robin fics written in the month of july, for flash fiction month.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. is it too late to bring us back to life

**Author's Note:**

> (asuka voice) pathetic 
> 
> i wrote 8 laurent/robin centric pieces for ffm and i hated myself because why would you write for such an obscure ship that only plays up to ur preference like, how self indulgent could you get???? absolutely uncalled for my apologies all around
> 
> also like?????????? half of these were written in the context of "a song of ice and fire emblem" so u got katarina who's one of my MUs god how embarrassing i lied i dont want to post this whatever i'll 
> 
> whatever i'll just go with the flow im sorry god im sorry mom

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(one)

( _is it too late to bring us back to life?_ ) 

.

.

laurent begins with her end, when she ghosts her lips over his own, whispers three words and a silent  _goodbye_ , that’s when he wakes up.

* * *

 

the assignment falls into noire’s singed hands.

her gloves are pieces of indescribable leather on the dirt ground. she carries a heavily-used thoron tome meticulously, warily, she tries not to shake when she makes the journey from the deepest parts of the battlefield to where laurent was tending to the wounded. his recover staff lays on his lap, his hands threatening to snap the piece in half.

noire’s never seen them so bone white, that coloration belongs to her alone—for laurent to shake and for laurent to tremble, she feels so much worse about the sympathies that are supposed to come out of her mouth.

“l-laurent?”

his eyes flicker in recognition, but she can’t look past the broken spectacles and the purple-blue bruises, blood drips from fresh cuts and he doesn’t even bother wiping it away.

this was not the laurent she’s come to love, and to hate.

“noire.”

laurent tilts his chin up, looks at noire briefly, acknowledges her existence, before dropping his amber gaze back to the staff in his hand. she takes a seat on the crate next to him, and takes a deep breath—she pushes the tome onto his lap and clasps her wrapped hands together.

the effect is immediate.

he reacts. a sharp intake for air, he coughs out the gasp because she knows he doesn’t want to show weakness, it’s  _laurent_ ,  but he goes from a pillar of stability and ice to a man, consumed by wracking sobs and choked out screams.

she throws her arms around his neck and lets him cry. her blonde hair mixes with his auburn, and she pats his back, never in a thousand years would she have imagined her being his comforter—

but never in a thousand years would they have thought robin wasn’t invincible.


	2. baby, you're no good for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i love you, laurent." 
> 
> he only wished she didn’t.

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(two)

_baby, you're no good for me._

.

.

laurent tries to keep his face nondescript.  

"i don’t wanna dance with you."

she slurs her words, gives him a furrowed brow and a narrowed set of dark brown eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. robin’s tactician’s cloak sleeves are bundled around her elbows, far too large for her petite frame, he can see every scar she’s gotten since the beginning of the campaign against valm, they’re all on display on her dark arms, pale lines criss cross and tangle, he tries not to think about the proximity of the blade that caused them.

silver and exact, these lines are precise.

"i’m simply asking for a moment of your time."

laurent clears his throat, and fiddles with the brim of his hat, his gaze can’t quite meet hers, and robin lets out a noise of discontent. she sways, back and forth, heels to toes, uncrosses her arms only to keep a semblance of balance, he steps forward to catch her arm before she falls flat on her face, it’s happened before, it will happen again. 

he’s just not sure why it’s always him who finds her in such a disarray. with the rest of the shepherds she is the picture of piety, a goddess reborn to the masses of ylisse, a silver-haired magician with the world in the palm of her hands. with chrom, she’s a confidante, a shoulder to lean on, the sharpest  blade in his armory. 

but with laurent, she was absolutely terrifying. uninhibited. relentless, she puts her hands on her hips and leans forward, laurent takes a couple steps back because despite her chin coming up to his shoulder, she was still the backbone of this army, her strategies were to die for, and she was still his superior.

brrr.

"then, if not daaaaancing, for what, hm mmm?" 

laurent coughs, tugs at the collar of his tunic, tries to get it together, composure and grace and a level-head, that is what he is known for.

"you’re intoxicated." again, he wants to add, but she’s pursing her lips and staring into a far-off distance past his person.

"a plea for intervention coming from the mouth of from my darling?"

she giggles, and presses a hand against the hollow of his cheek, his face is gaunt, sharp cheekbones press against skin, wherever her fingers poke and prod, a mass of freckles rise to greet her. goosebumps.

he’s shaking.

"why?"

robin blinks, once, twice, before retracting her hand, and running it through her hair, long and silver, and without its usual twintails. her bangs skim her eyebrows, she stares at him blankly.

"why do you willingly subject yourself to the amnesia that plagued you, are these memories honestly so terrifying that you would rather the companionship of moonshine?" 

laurent is serious, his voice has never been so loud in her presence. there’s a flutter of paperwork and inkwells, the onyx drips from her cartography table to the earth below, leaves streaks of dismal despair in its wake. his arms around her waist, his chin on her shoulder, he presses her close to him, as close as she can get—robin smells like evergreen and smoke, and it’s the only thing he’s not willing to let go.

 ”i understand the fear too well, robin, you mock my very existence.” 

she’s mouthing something too low for him to hear, into the folds of his cape.

"—laurent." 

there’s a lucidity in her eyes that makes him flinch, her dark gaze so very bright in that moment. 

there’s an edge to her voice that makes him listen.

"i’m sorry."

slurring no more, she detaches herself from his embrace, lets her coat sleeves fall down past her fingertips. 

"i know that’s not enough, not right now."

she does a half turn, her back to him, and starts to walk towards the other side of her quarters, to her makeshift library, she presses her gloved fingertips against weathered spines and he watches her tremble. 

"i’m a tactician for god’s sake, the weight of a fucking halidom rests upon my shoulders, a burden only i can carry. i am the wings of despair, the breath of ruin, laurent,  _i am the fell dragon_.” 

she clenches her fists, and he wills himself to stand his ground.

"i kill you." 

he doesn’t know what to say.

"yet."

she continues.

"you stay with me, you stay by my side and we fight as one, and i mock your very existence with every word we exchange. you were lost in the plegian desert for five years before we found you, on the brink of death, nursing the very same bottle as me."

"my love."

her lips break into a smile, something terrible and horrifying, her teeth glint in the moonlight, white and sharp and she cries, the sobs wreck her body, she’s crumbling. 

"i don’t want anybody to die." 

laurent lowers his gaze, covers the distance between them, and raises his hand, pushes it against the hood of her cloak.

six centimeters apart, barely touching, this is their love affair.

"they don’t have to, robin." 

they already did. you already killed them. 

"i want you to be the thorn at my side, laurent."

she hiccups.

"i want you to kill me, if chrom can’t do it, he’s got a heart of gold, my stupid lord, but you’ve seen what i can do." 

"what i will do."

he shakes his head, no.  _no._

"you can’t ask of me something so selfish." 

"you’re the only one who can." 

she pushes his hat off his head, and leaves her hands in his red hair.

it’s the color of fire, the color of blood. the color of her ultimate betrayal.

"i love you, laurent." 

he only wished she didn’t. 


	3. you make me feel that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a turn for the better, maybe. it's embarrassing, he's like a lost pup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> burn me in hell
> 
> katarina is the MU i paired up w/ laurent in my last playthrough im sorry for even writing this sorry mom sorry god

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(three)

( _you make me feel that (la la la la la)_ )  

.

.

"don’t you think it’s too soon?" 

"soon is kind of relative for me, laurent." 

* * *

 

she giggles into her wrapped palm, and he finds the gesture unbecoming of a plegian queen. her black hair is feathery today, it sticks up at comical angles and defies gravity in ways that he once thought were impossible for long hair to do. 

but with katarina, anything was possible, she was ylisse’s dark miracle. 

"i’m not asking you to marry me, jeez." she shrugs a little, looking tinier than ever in her violet and gold cloak, six eyes blink back at laurent, and he gulps down a shudder. she fiddles with one of the buttons until the thread unravels and the bauble slips from her tiny hands. 

"oops." she doesn’t bother to pick it up, and laurent sighs, he’ll have to get someone to fix it later—there was no way he would let her out of his sight like that.

a habit he got from his mother. 

"listen, i know it’s kind of hard, to grasp, i guess, but i like having you around." her soft alto fills the air, and makes him lean forward, towards her. she notices and takes a couple steps back, she’s never liked him reacting to her stature, but he’s a mountain in comparison, her head comes below his shoulder and he thinks it slightly endearing, how she commands a room from an overturned crate.

"you make me smile, you say smart things, and you help out a lot. i just, want to be able to keep that for a little longer." she winks her good eye. the right is still bandaged from their fight on the demon's ingle. he still remembers carrying her back from the volcano in his arms, struggling against the suffocating ash and the pulsing heat waves. she had her left hand pressed against his cheek, and her right clutching at the bandage around her the gaping hole where her eye should be. 

now, a more permanent eyepatch takes the place of sullied bandages. if you were to see behind the leather enigma, as laurent has done once with a shaking hand, you’d see—

"c’mon, am i _reeeeeally_ that scary?" 

laurent blinks behind his silver spectacles, he takes them off and wipes them away with the tan fabric of his tunic. no, of course not. he puts them back on his face, and runs a hand through his hair.

black, just like hers. 

she’s in front of him now, analyzing, scanning, tugging at his sleeve. 

"no, you’re an object of fascination. not a source of nightmares or terror." 

katarina snorts. 

"i’m glad, i guess." 

the silence that overcomes the library is not awkward, he traces circles on her hand, after removing the bandages, it is ungloved and translucent in the candle light. six purple eyes stare back. 

he tries to ignore the eyes to the best of his ability by leaning his head on her shoulder, it’s a long way down and she laughs when he complains about the curvature of his spine.

"i understand if you’ve got your eyes set on someone else, i wouldn’t be surprised." 

"oh?"

she fidgets, just a little bit. 

"i mean, you’ve got girls like noire and severa and lucina—"

"she’s to be married as soon as the war ends." 

he flatly cuts her off. 

she grimaces. “sorry. touchy subject, i know, it was—”

laurent presses his lips against her eyepatch. softly, carefully. he leans back.

she stares at him, lips pursed and in that moment he forgets that she is her superior, chrom’s master tactician, ylisse’s savior, plegia’s daughter, and the wings of destruction—

she is eighteen years old, three years younger than he and she is waiting to be kissed.

he burns bright red, his cheeks flush, the heat that radiates off his person would give anyone else a fever, but katarina, she takes it all in stride and tip toes in her boots, tries to elevate herself off the floor, anything to meet his face. 

"you’re supposed to…lean down…" she tries to whisper, and keep herself off the floor, but even that’s a little too much for their resident strategenius, she loses her footing and comes tumbling down, laurent opens his arms and she lands on his chest with an  _OOF!_

they’re sprawled out on the floor and laurent thinks he’s going to have a heart attack. his glasses land next to her hip, and she’s got her knee in between his legs, it pins down his dress robes and he thinks to himself: 

 _i should consider reclassing into something with pants._  

"but laurent, this is too soon! i didn’t know you were like this! manipulating a poor girl’s affections—"

he sighs when she breaks out into a peal of giggles. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pillow talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back 2 robin before the last 4 which are part of the a song of ice and fire emblem universe...rip me... to SHREDs...

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(four)

( _if we only live once, why do we keep doing the same shit?_ ) 

.

.

the glare she’s giving him makes him keep his shirt on. 

* * *

 

laurent tries not to exhale a sigh of relief, because when he’s got a girl straddling his hips with her hands in his hair, that was definitely, not the best course of action. 

"are you always so passive?" she hisses, pulling away. her dark eyes are colder than usual, there’s a menacing glint that makes his insides churn in the most glorious of ways, what he would do for her nails to scrape against his back—

focus, _refocus_. 

"no," he starts to insist, but his train of thought crashes against her rib cage, he ghosts his lips over skin and bones, bruises ebony skin the color of violence.

the growl that escapes the bottom of her throat makes laurent want to scream.

he pushes her down, pins her down on the living room floor, her silver head narrowly misses a long-forgotten encyclopedia.


	5. i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love is an awful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight we're here, the asoiafe junk, wanna apologize to god and jesus and everyone else involved

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(five)

(i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck) 

.

.

“are you trying to kill me, lady martell?” 

* * *

 

her hands hover over his shoulders, as if about to wring his neck. it wouldn’t be surprising, laurent knew what she was capable of, despite her tiny stature. her fingernails scrape against his ivory tunic and he wills himself to stand tall and stand immobile. she pouts, her dark lips make an o, and she retracts her hands, skims over his temples, pulls ever so lightly on his auburn hair, before placing them back into the folds of her elegant dress skirts.

“no, love, i am not.”

katarina doesn’t like how he taints her birthright, his words are the venom she supposedly wields with a finesse that would make the sand snakes hiss.

“my mother was right about you. your family.”  

his lips twitch into a grimace, and he places a hand on his face, sighing into his scarred palm. he catches her expression from the corner of his eye, it’s somber and serious and a lot more resigned than he would expect from the martell’s favorite daughter. there are dark circles under her eyes, thick and permanent, he’s brushed his fingertips against the violet many times before, but now, when his hands cup the hollow of her cheek, his thumb makes circles, etches runes he will never be able to perform—prayers.

“my apologies. i spoke too brazenly.” he must collect his thoughts. there was something missing, in between her golden dresses and penchant for eyes on the cuffs of her sleeves, katarina martell was not all she said she was.

“it’s fine, darling.”

there is nothing fine about the conversation, it flickers and fades out, like the candles burning quietly in his study, the lights go out one by one until they stand in an abyss of leather bound manuscripts and dying vines, desperately clinging to the concrete walls of his archaic castle.

laurent tyrell lets her wrap her hands around his neck. she squeezes. her golden bangles fall from her wrist to her elbow, they make a beautiful noise.

.

.

.

because true love, it's the worst kind. 


	6. we'll use our lenses then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an issue of swords and sorcery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(six)

(we'll use our lenses then) 

.

.

"i want to get better." 

"at what, swordplay?" 

* * *

 

katarina looks at her lover, and gives him a sardonic smile. her fingertips brush against the hilt of her saber, she unsheathes it with a fluidity that makes laurent flinch, in seconds the blade is at the tip of his nose.

"haven’t you considered that your gifts lie elsewhere?" 

she returns the blade to its scabbard, and gives him a little laugh, there’s nothing mirthful about it. laurent narrows his eyes and turns away, he will not let her get the best of him.

"i want you to fight me. i want to get better." 

katarina arches a dark brow, places a hand on her cheek,  _hmmm_ , she’s already thinking about the possible outcome, sizing him up, she’s half his height and wearing a dress, maybe if she does a little of this, a little bit of that…

"fine." 

she draws her blade, and he grabs for his dagger.

katarina shakes her head. she takes the dagger from him, and gives him her sword.

"try again, love." 

(the match’s only begun and his back makes acquaintance with the floor and the silver of his own blade.

but he will get up time and time again, until he can protect the woman he loves—he will not allow her other eye to be taken from her.) 

.

.

.

at least, that's what he tells himself, when he thinks about how her sword would look coming out of her ribcage. 


	7. fast cars, fast women, and cheap drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bloodlust and beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laughs hollowly im trying to get thru this as fast as possible so i can pretend it never happened lMfao bye

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(seven)

( _these children learn from cigarette burns, fast cars, fast women, and cheap drinks._ ) 

.

.

it’s become a ritual. 

* * *

 

she has her hands around his throat, and her knee in between his legs, despite being half his height, she towers over him in personality and ego. his fingers fumble with the buttons on her dress, he plucks suns out of place and pulls the stars off her shoulders, until the fabric pools around her wrists and she shakes prettily, but the look in her eyes is cruel.

"you promised me,  _ser_ laurent.” 

the title tastes like poison, it tastes like honey on his lips, on his tongue, everything she does to him feels like being fire. she squeezes tighter, until he’s gasping for air, he’s choking out her name like blood magic spells—she makes him speak the most ancient tongue, orchestrates his life with her tiny hands. 

he promised her a rose garden.

and she was coming back to get her due.

her kisses scald. 

laurent’s spidery fingers tug at the leather and string that frame her face, he tugs until the knot slips and falls on the bed, gets lost in between sheets and blankets. 

katarina’s right eye is the color of the first winter.

it sees nothing, doesn’t register laurent’s presence. 

"what are you doing?" 

his finger tips glide over her fluttering eyelid, twitchy and nervous, and her hands loosen for a fraction of a second—

laurent pulls her eye out. 


	8. glory and gore go hand in hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an issue of lineage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaAAAaand WE'RE ALMOST DOOO O OO NE

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(eight)

( _glory and gore go hand in hand)_

.

.

"you bastard."

"no, lady martell, i’m true born. unlike yourself." 

* * *

 

he presses a thumb against his chin, and smiles sardonically. she's seen the look somewhere else, that callous expression belongs to her alone, and he mirrors it perfectly. 

"should i start calling you lady sand, instead?"

she goes for her sword, its ruby encrusted hilt finds her bandaged hand, its blade laurent’s neck.

"a dornish princess with a penchant for swordplay and for poisons, an elaborate ruse, well done, really. it seemed so plausible, a match made in the seven hells."

bravado does not suit the keeper of the highgarden, who’s only known of war from the balconies of elegant citadels and the windowsills of beautiful towers.

"you’re here to murder my sister."

it is not a question.

katarina does not move, she is frozen to the spot, ~~her lover’s~~ her victim's accusations cut at her crafted facade.

cut and slash and slice until there is nothing left but the bastard of the martell family, their favorite pet snake.

katarina sand. a prodigy learned in the art of war, gifted with a saber and an arsenal of poisons that made the highgarden’s own pale in comparison.

but not quite. not when the keeper was always one step ahead. 

laurent looks at her with an expression she demands is tinged with regret, anything but pity, anything but the cruel look she helped him perfect.

her sword does not phase him.

drops of crimson dot his skin.

there was no use in denying it.

"morgan is a threat to my family, and she will be disposed of."

 _even if i have to kill you too_ , she is supposed to say, she must will the words out of her mouth, she must she must she must avenge her sister.

the true lady martell will take the spear.

morgan tyrell’s plot will not destroy her family’s birthright.

even if the love of her life—

she hesitates. her hand vibrates. the tremble shakes her very core.

laurent, beautiful and uncultivated and untarnished laurent, his expression softens with her arm’s betrayal.

"you can’t kill me."

when the blade comes out of his back, she presses her lips against his.

.

.

.

"ah, foolish brother, it seems you have gotten yourself in quite the mess." 

morgan smiles blithely, and pulls a dagger out of katarina's neck. 

"thankfully, your darling sister's here to help, let's get you patched up. lying in a pool of your own blood is absolutely no place for a prince." 

laurent does not respond. the thorn of the highgarden ignores his silence, and instead, busies herself in dabbing his wound with ointment from the apothecary's. 


	9. this is the dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love at first sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE ALMOST DONE, WE'RE ALMOST DONE THANK GOD!!!!!!!!!!! got one more, an epilogue of sorts, after this and thank the good lord jesus christ amen 
> 
> epilogue will return to ur regularly scheduled robin/laurent by kat u had ur good run

**you're breaking my whole thesis**

(nine)

(this is the dream) 

.

.

a step, and a turn, dancing should not be difficult, but for  ~~ _ser_~~  laurent tyrell, it was absolutely taxing.

* * *

 

the princeling of ylisse covers their laughter with a gloved hand when laurent trips over his own feet, and narrowly misses their left foot. 

lucina lets a giggle float out of their painted lips, and laurent arches a brow when their hands finds his waist, this isn’t how the dance goes, but they lead effortlessly, and he commends them for that.

"ser—" 

he cuts them off immediately.

"just laurent is fine." he says when they dip him, it makes his cheeks burn, and when lucina sets him back up, they curtsy slightly, and press a kiss against the historian’s gloved knuckles.

"well, 'just fine' laurent, it was a pleasure." 

laurent swallows back a cough, and carefully retracts his hand, it hovers over the folds of his embroidered tunic. they ruffle his hair, and pat it back into submission, before turning on their heel and returning to their whispering ladies in waiting, their sharp gazes pierce daggers into laurent’s heart, and the son of the tyrell line clears his throat and scurries off the main floor. 

"stealing hearts, milord?" 

“ _gods.”_

laurent flinches at the sight of the dark-haired girl, she skulks in a corner of the hall with a sour expression on her soft face. katarina glares at him with her good eye until he is able to formulate a proper explanation that would satisfy the martell family’s pet snake.  

.

.

.

no, he was not stealing hearts, not in the slightest.

but the heart he thought belonged to one, beat erratically at the sight of another.

"an omen of bad things to come." 

laurent is not one to listen to the advice of knights, he abhors their existence, they mock him for his lacking strength, but owain of the north, he only shakes his head.


End file.
